Tagged

I was tagged by Damsel, and now I have to list six unimportant things about me. Hmmm. There are so many things that are unimportant - how to choose?

1. Milk is my favorite beverage. I guess that's a good thing considering how much of my life I spend pregnant or nursing.
2. I have a scar that runs through my right eyebrow. I got it when I was a child. I had tied a jump rope to a swing on my swing set and then brilliantly pulled the swing into my own face.
3. I'd leave my husband in a heartbeat if Lyle Lovett asked me to. My husband knows and accepts this.
4. I don't get Bob Dylan.
5. I have an IQ that is in the genius range. But when I took an IQ test for fun 6 months after Ella was born, I scored a 65 - proof that being a mother makes you stupid.
6. I have the bad habit of abesent-mindedly twitching my left foot. When I do this my ankle makes a clunking noise that I don't even notice. The noise, however, drives B insane.

There - six things. I'm not going to tag anyone. But if you feel like making your own list, drop a line in the comments and let me know.

Cheers

416

That's the number of children who were taken from the YFZ compound here in Texas this week. I am absolutely stunned that so many children were hidden there, away from public view. The scariest thing is that these children know no other way of life. The girls are brought up to believe that their purpose in life is to be married young and bear as many children as possible. The boys are brought up to believe it is their right to have as many wives as they like - provided they aren't exiled from the community because there are too many young men.

What's even scarier is how many children might be in the Colorado City community, which is much, much larger than the Eldorado compound. There might be thousands there, hidden from view and "protected" by the local authorities, who are all FLDS members.

I know that "regular" Mormons are ordinary people who happen to believe in odd things. By all accounts, most are fine, upstanding members of their communities. But the fundamentalists are something else all together. If you haven't, you should read Krakauer's "Under the Banner of Heaven." It contains an excellent history of Mormonism and of the fundamentalist cults that sprang up.

I don't consider FLDS to be a religion - it's a cult, pure and simple. Any group that hides its members away from sight and indoctrinates them to believe that young girls should have sex and bear children with men decades older than they is a cult.

My hope is that the Texas authorities can find good foster home for these kids and help them transition to the real world. Otherwise, in a few years, they'll be raiding the compound and removing even more children.

And as for the girl who called in the report of abuse - she's got to be the bravest girl. I hope she's safe with the other kids and hasn't been whisked away as a result of her call for help.

I'm not a praying person, but I am praying for these children.

Two tired girls

The girls spent Friday night and all day Saturday with their grandmother and returned home for a late bedtime. True to form, they were up at the crack of dawn Sunday.

Lily fell apart first, bursting into tears at the slightest thing - Campbell touched her teddy bear, the tent they built fell down, Ella wouldn't play with her, her apple had a bruise. After two hours of dealing with her tears, I sent her to her room for rest time. "But I'm not tired!" she wailed as I tucked her in. She popped out a few times to announce that she had stopped crying, but, mean mom that I am, I put her back in bed. After an hour of protesting, Lily finally fell asleep; she took a 3 1/2 hour nap. So much for her not being tired.

Ella held everything together until just before bedtime. As we were gearing up for toothbrushing and stories, Ella announced that she was hungry. B told her that it was too late for snack, which sent Ella over the edge. She started screaming about how she was starving, so she got sent to bed. B and I both went in to calm her down, to no avail. She finally cried herself to sleep, which just broke my heart. When she woke up this morning, her eyes were all puffy from crying. I wanted to cry from looking at her.

She just needs to learn that screaming and yelling and slamming doors is not the way to go about getting what she wants. B and I tried to explain it to her last night, but she was too worked up to listen to us. As a result of her fit, she has to go straight to her room after school today. I hate to do that to her, because I know her tantrum was a result of her being overtired, but still . . .

Poor tired girls.

Sitting in a tree . . .

I furthered my reputation for motherly omniscience on Friday. We went up to the neighborhood grocery store with our friends the Ks and bought popsicles, which we sat outside and ate. While the kids were running around, mama-K told me that her daughter told her that Ella had kissed a boy after school and they were planning a November wedding. I just cringed.

I don't want either of my daughters to be a boy-crazy girl. Plus, I think seven is too young to be kissing.

While we were eating dinner, I casually said to Ella, "I hear that you and N kissed at the park today after school." The look on her face was classic. She was clearly thinking, "How did she know that??" But she shook her head no. I asked, "You didn't kiss N?" Another head shake. "N didn't kiss you?" Another shake, with a mortified look. I said, "It's ok if you did. I was just curious. I also heard you were having a wedding in November." Her eyes got even bigger at that comment.

I dropped the subject for a few minutes. Then I said, "You know. I think seven is too young to be kissing boys. Holding hands is OK. Hugging a friend is OK, but no kissing. I think you need to be 27 before you can kiss boys." Ella's only protest was, "But that's seven years after I'm a teenager." I shuddered a bit at the thought of Ella's being a teenager.

Later, while she and Lily were getting ready for their shower, I told Ella that if a boy ever wanted to kiss her and she didn't want him to, she was always allowed to say, "My mom says I'm not allowed to." I told her she could blame it all on me. I think she really liked the idea of blaming something on me, based on the slightly wicked grin on her face.

I'm glad I've opened the discussion of boys and kissing now. Perhaps if we are able to keep it up, it will be easier to broach the whole dating and sex thing when she's a bit older. The way things are going, it seems like that time will be sooner rather than later.

A good run

I wanted to get up and run with the group at 5:30 this morning, but last night's migraine ruined those plans. So this morning I put on running clothes in the hopes that doing so would inspire me to run after I got everyone off to school. And it worked.

After the thunderstorms stopped, I left Campbell home with B and headed out the door to run my little 3-mile loop in the neighborhood. I'm so glad I got out there. The weather was perfect for running - the storms had brought the temperatures down a good 15 degrees (I had to send a jacket to school for Ella with a neighbor because wore a sundress today) and dropped the humidity. Everything smelled so fresh and clean - all the spring trees and flowers are in bloom. Plus, after warming up, I actually felt good while I was running, and I was able to finish strong.

I ended feeling so good, so pleased with myself for actually getting out there to run.

Unfortunately, the good feelings didn't last long. By the time I got in the shower, the waves of all-day sickness had hit. B said he could see me actually turn green in front of him. So much for my theory that getting out an exercising makes my nausea better.

Blown away

I am absolutely blown away by the comments and e-mails I've received in response to my post on Tuesday. I was very nervous about putting my real feelings about this surprise baby out there for the world to see. Knowing how the blogosphere can be sometimes, I was preparing myself for some flames, for people to tell me I was a horrible person for not being overjoyed about an unexpected pregnancy.

Instead I received nothing but support, love and kindness. It was a relief to know that I'm not the only mother to feel this way and that is is OK to not be excited right away.

I'm still adjusting to the turn my life is taking, but being able to let go of some of the guilt I've been carrying for four weeks about how I feel has made a world of difference to me.

So thank you to everyone who commented and e-mailed. You helped me more than you can know.

This is not an April Fool's joke

So about four weeks ago all my plans for the coming year got thrown out the window. My goal of running the New York City Marathon? Gone. My anticipation of having Ella and Lily at school all day and Campbell at preschool two mornings a week? Gone. My plans for taking on more freelance work? Gone.

Why?

Because I'm pregnant with baby number four. To say that this was a surprise would be an understatement. I'm still having trouble saying "pregnant" out loud - it's like if I say it, it will actually be true.

The pregnancy test turned positive immediately - no need to wait three minutes for the results. I left it on the counter in the bathroom and went back several times during the day to check to see if it had suddenly turned negative - because they do that you know. Or not.

B was in meetings all day, so I couldn't get in touch with him to share the news. I had the whole day to sit and stew and cry. I finally was able to tell him late that afternoon, after our meeting to refinance our lake place. His reaction? "Holy f*ck, Wally!" Then he asked if I was sure he was the father. I kicked him in the shins. But since then he's been a rock. Every time I melt down in despair about having a fourth child when I can barely cope with three, he's there with reassurances that everything will be OK and we'll figure it all out together.

As much as I have joked in the past about wanting to have more babies, I didn't really mean it. I'm fine with three kids. Before we had Campbell, I insisted that someone was missing from our family. Once Campbell arrived, I felt like we were complete. There isn't anyone missing.

And all of these feelings of stress and anxiety make me feel even worse than the constant morning sickness. I mean, how can I not be excited about a new baby? I love babies. Babies are wonderful!

But I was so close to having that part of my life over with, and I was looking forward to it. I was going to have two whole mornings a week without children in the house. I was going to be able to get my hair cut or go to the dentist or go to work meetings without having to hire a sitter. I was going to be able to volunteer more at the girls' school without having to hire a sitter. I was counting down to the end of having diapers and sippy cups in the house.

Now I get to start all over.

All of those mixed emotions were compounded by the fact that I found out about the baby the same week my grandmother died. I fell apart one day when I realized I didn't get the chance to tell her that she was going to have a fourth great-grandbaby. My dear friend H consoled me by saying that my grandmother's spirit was whispering all sorts of secrets to the baby already. That just made me cry more.

We told the girls earlier this week. They did cartwheels around the kitchen while screeching with excitement. Ella kisses my belly several times a day and keeps asking when the baby will be big enough to hear her read stories to it. I'm trying to share their excitement, but it's hard.

I know that once they put that tiny, pink, screaming bundle in my arms I'll be just fine. I'll rejoice in the miracle that is a new baby.

I may not be able to rejoice until then, however. At least not until I stop feeling queasy and tired 24 hours a day.

I love our neighborhood

I really do. We've lived in this particular neighborhood for almost 11 years. We bought our first house, all 800 square feet of it, a month after we got married. When it was time for a larger house, we waited until we found one in the 'hood that we liked, which meant that we moved about half a mile south of our old house. At the time of the move, our current house, at 1550 square feet, seemed like a mansion. Of course, back then we only had one kid, not three, so there was plenty of room to spare.

But I digress.

Our neighborhood isn't one of the "glamorous" ones, and we don't have the most desirable zip code in town - that would be 78704, at least according to those who live in it - but it's got its own character and feel to it. Most of the houses were built in the late '40s and early '50s and most started life as 2 bedroom, 1 bath cottages. There are still some original residents, and it's interesting to hear about their experiences raising families in the little tiny houses. I think most parents today shudder at the thought of sharing a bathroom with their children, I know I do, but that's exactly what those families did. And they all lived to tell the tales.

Our house started as one of the two bedroom cottages, but someone who owned it previous to us added on a master bedroom and bathroom and ginormous closet, for which I am eminently grateful.

But all this isn't why I love our neighborhood.

I love it because of the people who live here. Everyone I meet and talk to loves living in this little section of Austin. They take pride in our area. We have two very committed neighborhood organizations that sponsor things like lighting luminarias along the main street through the 'hood at Christmas. If you've never seen a mile-long line of candles at night, I highly recommend it.

For the past five springs, the neighborhood associations for our area have sponsored a big day at the park called the Violet Crown Festival. There were bands and artisans and lots of food and kids' activities and a dunking booth and a silent auction. The proceeds all went to pay for what is called the Wall of Welcome.

I should add here that one of the cool things about our area is our neighborhood shopping center. It's got a little grocery store that's been owned by the same family since it opened, more than 50 years ago. It's got a family owned pharmacy run by a dad and his two sons. The dad has owned the store since it opened. It's also got a dry cleaner, barber shop and deli (which wins food awards). The shopping center really is the heart of our area - you can't go there and not run into someone you know. It's a real throwback to what Austin used to be like.

Back to the Wall of Welcome, which is really what this whole post is about.

For five years, an artist named Jean Graham has worked on this huge mosaic that covers the wall behind the shopping center. Neighborhood residents contributed tiles and turned out to help her put everything in place. It's a source of real pride for everyone here.

This Saturday was the official unveiling of the wall, and the neighborhood turned out in force to celebrate. I was amazed at how many people were there - several hundred, at least. And they all came out just to visit and enjoy the event. The kids had a grand time running around with friends from school and making violet crowns in the art tent. There was food and music and jugglers. I got all teary eyed at the sight of everyone there.

The event made me realized, again, that we have picked the right place to live and raise our family, even if we are outgrowing our house. I can't imagine living anywhere else in Austin.

Vignettes

I have lots of ideas for posts floating around, but some of them require downloading pictures from my camera, which seems exhausting. Others are about things I'm not quite ready to share with the world. So instead, I offer some little stories about Campbell, who is quite the ham these days.

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Someone, probably one or both of the girls, has taught him to pretend to snore. Yesterday he was sitting on the sofa next to me and he suddenly flopped over so he was lying on his belly. I patted his back and asked him if he was tired. His response was to pretend to snore. I cracked up, which meant he did it over and over again. Campbell did it again when I tucked him into his crib last night. I thought maybe his pretending to snore meant he would go right to sleep. But instead he spent 30 minutes bouncing around and singing.

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During the news last night, I sat down on the coffee table to watch a piece that interested me. Campbell toddled through and climbed up next to me. He scootched over so that he was right next to me, crossed his legs at the ankles, and slid his arm through mine. He sat like that next to me for a good two minutes, which is a record for sitting still. It was so cute that I wanted to eat him up.

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For Easter, the kids' aunt and uncle gave them glider planes that you shoot across the room with a rubber band contraption. I've kept Campbell entertained today by flying a plane across the room and sending him off to fetch it. Campbell thinks it's the best game ever.

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I had a doctor's appointment this morning, so Campbell stayed with my friend H and her little girl L, who is 10 weeks younger than Campbell. It may be the last time H ever offers to let him stay there - I think he taught L some bad tricks. First, working together, they managed to get the front door open. H's son W told her that the babies were loose, and she found them on the front porch, making a break for it. Later, she caught them with markers, which Campbell was teaching L how to get open.

Little trouble-maker.

I just looked up to see that Campbell has managed to knock the screen out of the front window and he's busily pushing things out the open window onto the front porch.

Scenes from Albany

Even though I haven't lived in Albany since I was in first grade, I still consider it my hometown. I've spent enough time there through the years, including one summer while I was in college, that I can get around pretty easily. I took these pictures on my trip up for my grandmother's memorial service.

This is the pond in front of my grandparent's house. Actually, there are two ponds, divided by a small bridge of land. The second pond belonged to my grandfather's brother's property. I spent countless hours floating around on the first pond in the old rowboat, whacking carp on the head. I guess my parents didn't worry too much about my drowning, considering that the pond is probably four feet deep, max. After my grandmother's memorial service, my grandparents' ashes were scattered in and next to the pond. Given that the pond is still half frozen, we were a bit worried we'd be scattering ashes on the pond, not in it.

This is my grandparents' house. They built it almost 30 years ago, after selling the Big House. It very much has the feel of a cabin in the woods. During the summer, the deck would have furniture on it that we'd spend pretty much all day hanging out on. We ate countless meals out here in the evenings, with hamburgers cooked over my grandfather's gasoline-fueled fires.

This is the back of the "Big House," which was my grandfather's family's home. The current owners were home, so I didn't feel I could walk around the front of the house to get a picture. My grandparents built their little house behind the Big House. I loved staying here when I was little; the house was magical. I'd wander off into the ballroom, which was shut up most of the year, and bang away on the grand piano. I'd explore all the closed-off bedrooms and storage rooms in the basement, which were filled with treasures like comic books and table hockey games. Or I'd spend hours on my perch in the window seat of the library reading.

This is the pool where I learned to swim. It's part of the Big House's property and is between that house and my grandparents'. The pool seemed so big when I was little, especially when dad was trying to get me to jump off the diving board, but really, it's postage-stamp sized. The rock walls around it were part of the old stone barn. The whole property - the Big House, the pastures, the polo field, the ponds, the back fields - was once a working dairy farm called Wyebrook Farms. My dad and his brothers and step-brothers grew up working on the farm.
And finally, the New York State Capitol. It's a pretty cool building, but I've never seen it without scaffolding or cranes around it. You can't see it in the picture, but the south wing of the building is covered in scaffolding due to roof repairs. The building has 76 steps up the front and 17 steps up the back. When Teddy Roosevelt was governor, he used to walk over from the governor's mansion and run up the front steps. He'd grant an interview to any reporter who could keep up with him. The grounds were pretty quiet the day I was there, save a few vendor selling St. Patrick's day gear in advance for that afternoon's parade.